


operator (that's not the way it feels)

by hanthelibrarian



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Background Relationships, Based on a Jim Croce Song, Bill Denbrough Needs a Hug, Bisexual Bill Denbrough, Explicit rating for future content, Gay Mike Hanlon, Hurt/Comfort, In a way, Inspired by Operator (That's Not The Way It Feels) by Jim Croce, Lyrics were used in the writing of this fic, M/M, Maturin is a cosmic force, Maturin ships hanbrough, Minor Kay McCall/Audra Phillips, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phone Operator Mike, Soon-to-be Divorced Bill Denbrough, The Universe Pushes Them Together, past Bill Denbrough/Audra Phillips - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:33:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28061742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanthelibrarian/pseuds/hanthelibrarian
Summary: ‘“Operator, could you help me place this call?”The voice coming through the headset Mike is wearing is quiet, trembling almost. There’s a note of sadness that nearly breaks his heart.’Payphone operator Mike gets a call one day, a call that changes his whole life.-a fic inspired by a song
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon
Comments: 13
Kudos: 15





	1. a memory of something i've never known

**Author's Note:**

> i finished this about ten minutes before posting it. i may continue this as an actual multichap fic or i may not. that all depends on what i feel and what people want. thank you for reading.

“Operator, could you help me place this call?”

The voice coming through the headset Mike is wearing is quiet, trembling almost. There’s a note of sadness that nearly breaks his heart. 

“Yes, sir. Do you have the number?”

There’s some shuffling coming through the receiver now. Mike imagines the man shuffling his feet as he stuffs a hand in each pocket of his coat, of his pants, trying to find the small slip of paper with the phone number on it. The sound continues for a few moments and Mike is about to confirm that the man is still on the line when the voice, somehow even quieter now, comes through. 

“I-I do but,” the man takes a deep breath. “It’s on this matchbook and it’s faded. I can’t, I can’t read it. I don’t even, um, don’t even know what this number goes to.”

Mike’s heart goes out to the man. He’s clearly not doing well and is in need of some assistance, even if Mike isn’t the person he needs it from.

“Sir, do you know the name of the person you’re calling?”

Sometimes people use payphones to place calls to unsuspecting stalking victims. Sometimes people use payphones for reasons less devious. Mike is hoping the man he’s speaking to falls under the latter category. Either way, he has a job to do and that’s to provide the phone number upon request.

“Audra,” the man says after clearing his throat. His voice sounds firmer now, stronger, but Mike can hear hints of the trembling from earlier. “Audra Den- Phillips. Audra Phillips.”

Mike sets to work finding a number to reach the woman at, careful to not voice his thoughts although he desperately wants to know more. He wants to know who this woman is, why even speaking her name seems to pull the caller into a deeper state of depression, why the man stumbled over her last name, as if it used to be something else. Working as a payphone operator is frustrating at times for just this reason; as much as he wants to know, he can’t ask. 

While he’s searching, Mike hears the man sniffle, reminiscent of a child holding back tears. It takes everything in him to not bring attention to it, to not offer condolences or help. It doesn’t matter in the end, though, as the man begins speaking, quick and choppy, his voice tinted with sadness. 

“She’s living in L.A. now. Actually,” he laughs, the sound hollow and resigned. “She’s living with my best old ex-friend Kay. You know what she told me once about Kay?”

Mike doesn’t say anything, pretends he’s not listening but oh, he is. He’s listening more intently than he’s ever listened to a call. 

The man laughs again and Mike can tell the sound is fake, forced, a facade for the pain the man is feeling. “She told me that sometimes she hated Kay, hated how she walked and talked and smiled at her. But I guess it was the kind of hate a woman has towards someone she’s in love with without knowing it. And you know,” he chuckles dryly, the scratchy evidence of his tears showing through his voice. “Isn’t that the way they say it goes? Never mind that, just give me the number please. I want to call and let her, let _them_ know that I’m okay now, that I’m over it.”

And there it is. The reason for the man’s sadness, the reason for his pain. His wife or girlfriend or whatever she was to him had left him for his friend. Mike can’t imagine how hurt he must feel to be betrayed not only by Audra but by his best friend as well. And he clearly isn’t over it, not by the way he speaks, by the way he sounds, and the way he sucks in a sharp breath whenever he says her name, as if merely mentioning her brings hot irons to his skin.

“Sir,” Mike begins.

He’s cut off by the caller, his soft voice cutting through the faint static of the call. “It’s Bill.”

“Bill.” The name rolls along Mike’s tongue like a peppermint candy; sharp, soothing, and filled with nostalgia that he doesn’t quite understand. “I’m sorry you’re going through this. I-” he cuts off, clears his throat. “I have the number ready for you to write down.”

“Ah.” Bill’s voice rings out softly through the receiver; he sounds lonely, if Mike looks too far into his tone and his energy. He sounds lonely and hollow but Mike can’t worry about those things. He doesn’t know Bill and after he turns over the number and hangs up, he’ll most likely never hear Bill’s voice again.

_A shame_ , he thinks. _I could listen to that voice for ages_. 

Bill’s voice has a sort of timber to it, hidden beneath the layers of emptiness and agony. It’s soothing in a way that Mike doesn’t quite want to think about too much. It reminds him of something he’s never known before, not in this lifetime, but it’s something that he wants to know.

“Thank you, uh,” Bill pauses and Mike desperately wants to fill the silence so he does, telling the caller his name, something his boss will reprimand him for later. “Thanks, Mike.” 

Mike’s finger hovers over the ‘end call’ button; something is drawing him to Bill, something that should scare him but doesn’t. He feels as if he knows Bill, knows his delicate intricacies, his tones and undertones. Flash of a memory comes to his mind but quickly vanishes. A farm? Sheep? And Mike swears he can smell a touch of freshly cut hay but it dissipates before he can focus on it. 

The click that he hears from the receiver tells him that Bill hung up first. An odd feeling washes over Mike. With how this job is, he’ll most likely never hear from Bill again. He feels a sharp pain in his chest, as if he’s been torn away from something he should never let go of.

Shaking his head to clear that feeling, Mike turns to continue on with his work day. His _boring_ work day. Not very many people use payphones anymore so there’s only a few other operators for the city and each year the numbers dwindle down more. Mike feels confident in his position; he’s the only one who hasn’t called in sick, hasn’t shown up late, hasn’t had any complaints. He feels confident except for the fact that the need for payphones is dying out and soon there won’t be any in the city. 

As he waits for the next call, Mike brainstorms jobs that he could turn to once this one goes under. He’s always enjoyed history and the paranormal so a podcast would be a good option but it wouldn’t put food on the table. Mike’s on Possible Job number seven when his headset alerts him to a call.

“Operator, can you help me place this call?”

_Bill_. Why did Bill call? How did Mike get lucky enough to be assigned this call? And why does Mike feel like his heart’s going to float up through his throat and hover around the ceiling?

“Bill?”

A soft gasp is all Mike hears in response on the line. They’re both surprised then. Knowing that brings a smile to his face. Maybe he was hoping to get Mike or maybe Mike is projecting onto this man he’s never met.

“Hi, Mike.”

It’s such a simple greeting, one that he’s heard a thousand times before but coming from Bill, it feels different. And not just ‘I’ve never met this man before’ kind of different but a ‘this feels like I’m finally coming home’ kind of different. Mike sits up straighter in his office chair, the uncomfortable material fading into the background of his senses; all he can focus on right now is Bill and his voice, his soft and gentle and comforting voice. It’s that voice that cuts through the silence yet again, pulling Mike from the memory of a feeling he doesn’t recognize.

“Could, could you help me place this call?” Tentative, scared, and again, hollow. Bill’s voice can barely be heard through the receiver and Mike moves to adjust the settings, thinking that it’s a malfunction but then- “‘Cause I can’t read the number that you just gave me. There’s, uh, something in my eyes. It’s funny, you know? This only happens when I think about her and about how much we loved each other at the start. It was good, great even. At least,” he pauses, another sharp breath. “At least, I thought it was. But maybe I just couldn’t see it. Maybe I didn’t _want_ to see it.”

“Bill,” Mike begins, unsure of where his sentence is going. How do you comfort a man you don’t know? How do you comfort someone who so achingly needs comfort? Where do you begin? He adjusts his tie, a smart little thing that he chooses to wear each day despite the casual dress code. Taking a deep breath, he starts, “Are you okay?”

“No.” The simple, matter-of-fact way that he says it shows the truth behind the single word. “And I wish, I wish my words could just convince myself. Convince myself that it wasn’t real, that it didn’t happen. But-” a muffled laugh cuts in, startling Mike a bit. “That’s not the way it feels.”

“I guess not,” Mike mumbles into the mic. “Are you sure you want to make this call? It’s okay if you’re not ready…”

It’s quiet for a moment but there’s no dead tone so Mike knows Bill didn’t hang up. He doesn’t want to push him, not when he’s feeling so down but he wants to make sure he’s making this call because he wants to, not because he feels he has to. Another beat passes and then Bill speaks.

“You’re right. Let’s just forget about this call.” 

Mike can hear Bill playing with the phone cord, imagines him twirling it around his finger like a schoolgirl on the phone with her crush. But no, that’s not how their relationship is. Their relationship, if you could call it that, is limited to Mike’s role as a payphone operator and Bill’s role as a payphone user. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Thank you for your time,” Bill murmurs, his voice coming through clearly. He must be holding the phone close, speaking directly into it. “You've been so much more than kind. So long, Mike.”

The dead tone rings out into Mike’s ears as he whispers back, “So long, Bill.”


	2. need you (to call me back)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill calls again.

It’s Saturday, Mike’s usual day off and yet he’s here, in the call center. Patrick had called off… again. It seems like Patrick is calling off more than he’s at work but because he’s the boss’ nephew, he never gets reprimanded. Nepotism at its finest.

Sliding into the padded office chair that seems to grow more uncomfortable each day he sits in it, Mike prepares himself to handle calls from a different part of the city than he’s used to. Sometimes he can tell that it’s a repeat caller because they call so often. Because of that familiarity, he’s able to handle the calls better. He knows how to handle the daily taxi cab requester, the confused elder who just wants someone to talk to, and the teen who insists on making the silliest jokes to “brighten the day.” In this new environment? He has no clue who he might have to talk to, what verbal abuse might be thrown his way because the unit isn’t perfectly clean. He silently prays to whatever benevolent being might be out there that his day is quick and smooth like a spoonful of peanut butter. His headset rings and Mike knows the deity, whatever it was, didn’t grant his wish.

Or maybe it did.

“Operator, can you help me place this call?”

It’s Bill. Somehow he’s been placed with Bill again, in a different part of the city at a different time on a day he’s normally not working. Something somewhere must either have a cruel sense of humor or a personal vendetta against Mike because that sickeningly soft voice is echoing in his ear again. He’d thought that the first time he heard Bill’s voice would be the one and only time. He was proven wrong just moments later. And he thought that was it. Two phone calls, two chances to hear a voice that’s been playing over and over in his dreams like a skipping record that no one is around to reset. But here it is again, just as soft and gentle and hurting as it was that day.

“Hi, Bill,” Mike murmurs out, not realizing he had spoken aloud until he hears a sharp gasp. Mentally kicking himself for being so unintentionally creepy, he stammers out an apology but instead of a dead tone or a stream of words berating him, what he hears is a quiet laugh.

“Hi, Mike.”

And it’s like the floor dropped out from beneath him and he’s tumbling, suspended in an emotional updraft that smells of hay and summer heat and 

home.

He hears it in Bill’s voice, in his laugh, in his very breath. He feels as if his heart is just a cog in pocketwatch, stuck tick-tick-ticking out of beat, out of rhythm until he hears that voice and all at once he is on track, on time, on beat. Does Bill hear it too, in Mike’s voice? Does he hear the sound of the world coming to a standstill? Does he hear the echo of an ocean breeze that is much colder, sharper, more cutting than any you’d find here in California. Does he feel the warm summer breeze flowing through a field of hay that he’s never seen in this life? Does he feel the heat, sticky sweet, rolling up his back with the strength of a small child’s imagination and will? Does he?

“W-What can I help you with today?”

That’s all he can say. And what else  _ could  _ he say? How do you tell a stranger that you’ve been dreaming about them at night, dreaming about their voice and wondering if they’re dreaming of you too? How do you tell someone you’ve never met that they feel like home, a home that you’ve never known before? How do you tell them that hearing their voice brings memories to the forefront of your mind, memories that aren’t yours, not quite?

“I changed my mind on that call I was trying to make the other day,” Bill says, his voice sounding clearer than it did just moments ago. “I lost the number again so could you grab it for me?”

“Of course, Bill.”

Mike sets out to find the number, the process going much quicker this time as he vaguely remembers the details. ‘Audra Phillips’, ‘L.A.’, and another woman named ‘Kay McCall.’ As he’s pulling up the number, he can hear Bill mumbling to himself.

“Y-You can do this, Bill. Just call her, tell her you’re fine, tell her you’re happy for them. You’re not lying, not really. You  _ are  _ happy for them, you’re just-”

Mike cuts him off unintentionally, finishing the last bit of that sentence. “-still hurting.” 

There’s a silence floating between them now, Bill all those miles away from Mike, holding the plastic receiver close to his mouth. At least, he must be because Mike can hear the soft breaths coming through, unrestrained; another change from their last phone call. 

Mike is the first to speak, the guilt for butting in, inserting himself into a conversation Bill had meant only for himself. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“It’s fine.” 

Silence again but this time it’s strained, tense, unwelcoming. To break it, Mike gives Bill the number for the third time since they’ve first spoken and a part of him hopes that Bill won’t make the call, won’t have the courage to do it just yet because if he does, if he makes that call, he’ll have no need to get the number from the operator again meaning that he’ll never speak to Mike again and Mike desperately wants to hold onto that feeling that Bill brings him. He wants to feel at home in a city that sometimes feels too small because no one is there to show him the hidden places, the secret places, the curious wonders that a San Francisco native like him should know.

Sometimes he dreams of a farm, of sheep grazing in a field, of a picket fence that is falling apart in places, and of a boy, his dusty brown hair sticky with sweat as they drink lemonade in the summer sun. He clings to that dream each morning when he wakes, clings to that feeling of home that he can only feel in his sleep. Somehow he knows that boy is Bill, knows that his dusty brown hair smells of sandalwood and lemon, knows that his eyes are a blue that reminds him of a hazy summer morning. If he were to tell his friends about this, about meeting Bill only through the phone and yet know what color his hair is, knowing what color his eyes are, knowing  _ who _ he is without ever having met him, they’d say he’s crazy. And maybe he is crazy, crazy in the way Patsy Cline was crazy when she wrote that song, crazy in the way that every person is when they’ve found their person, the one they want to know everything about, the one they want to tell everything to. He doesn’t love Bill, he’s only spoken to him through the phone for a job that he doesn’t want to have anymore, not if he’ll never hear Bill’s voice on the other side of the line again. He doesn’t love Bill but he knows he could; he knows that he is already so close to it that he can taste the sweet and tangy flavor on his tongue in anticipation. He doesn’t love Bill but he could and he wonders if Bill can feel that, hear that in his voice. He wonders if Bill could ever love him back.

Love? What the fuck is he talking about? He’s only just met Bill, hasn’t  _ really _ met Bill, and yet he’s talking about love? Maybe his friends were right, maybe he’s too desperate for love so he’s looking for it in all the wrong places.

“Mike?”

Bill’s voice breaks Mike out of his reverie, pulling him back from the sunny farm and into the fluorescent-lit cubicle he sits at. He feels a chill wash over him as he rights himself, adjusting his seat and swallowing hard.

“Mike, I just want to thank you.” Bill sounds tired, sad even but Mike doesn’t want to think about that, doesn’t want to think about why that is. “You’ve been so kind to me through all this and I-”

He can’t let Bill finish that sentence. If he finishes that sentence, then that’s it, the end of their relationship (‘ _ not a relationship, Mike _ ’). “You can call anytime, Bill. It, well, it may not be me answering but it could be.”

It’s unspoken but Mike desperately wants Bill to keep calling despite knowing that he’ll have no need to once he calls Audra. He doesn’t want to lose this feeling that he has no right to feel when he hears Bill’s voice. He doesn’t want to lose this peace he’s found in the center of a city he doesn’t love, in a cubicle he hates doing a job that feels degrading at its best and disgusting at its worst. 

A sigh crackles through the receiver and into Mike’s headset and he knows Bill won’t be calling again. “It was nice talking to you, Mike.”

The call ends and Mike is left sitting there, a flood of memories he doesn’t recognize straining at the dam of his subconscious. “Nice talking to you, too, Bill.”

  
  



	3. that missing piece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something about coffee shops that just change your whole world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isn't a coffee shop au I swear!!

It’s been a few weeks since Mike last heard Bill’s voice outside of his dreams. Before that first call, Mike had never dreamed more than a few times a week; now he’s dreaming every night. Most of the time it’s the same dream where he and a boy he just knows is Bill are riding on a bicycle through a hayfield after the last harvest. That’s his favorite one, the innocence of it relaxing him as he sleeps, leaving him refreshed in the morning. Sometimes, though, it’s not a dream but a nightmare. There are six other kids standing around him as they huddle up, fear dripping off of them in thick streams of sweat, sewage, and tears. Mike can never remember the appearance of the creature in front of them when he wakes up and he honestly prefers it that way. Something tells him that it’s too terrifying, too raw and Lovecraftian for his conscious mind to handle it. Wherever these dreams are coming from, whatever hidden part of his mind they’re stemming from, he hopes they disappear as he tries to forget about Bill.

Bill. He doesn’t want to forget about him, doesn’t want to forget that voice that brought a taste of summertime and salt to his tongue. He doesn’t want to forget the way Bill made him feel during the few times they had spoken. With Bill came happiness, a sense of freedom, a sense of belonging that Mike has been craving ever since he was born. Now that he had had it in his grasp, only for it to slip away, he has tried so desperately to fill the void it has left. Nothing works.

Today is Mike’s day off from the call center and he’s sitting in a coffee shop not far from the office, trying to will himself to search Indeed or the local newspaper or somewhere for a job that doesn’t make him regret getting up each morning. It’s not like he doesn’t want to search for a new job but there’s always the hope that Bill will call again. It’s a ridiculous hope and Mike knows it; that doesn’t stop the hope from building up each morning as he walks into the call center. It also doesn’t stop the hope from crashing, burning, splintering into a thousand pieces as he leaves the call center each night.

Right as Mike is typing ‘jobs for people with a bachelors in early american history’ into the Google search bar, he hears something. Something that sounds so familiar yet not quite because it’s something he’s only ever heard through the crackling of a payphone receiver.

_ Bill. _

Mike’s looking around now, trying and failing to seem normal, to seem like he’s not aggressively scanning the small coffee shop looking for someone who he’s never truly met before. His eyes land on several men, young and old, but he can’t seem to connect the voice in his head to the faces he sees around him. Was it the radio? No, he definitely heard his voice clear as day. Bill is in this coffee shop. Mike is about to stand on top of his table like some sap in an 80s romcom when he hears the voice again.

“Can I get an iced americano with a dash of cinnamon?”

He’s up at the counter, ordering coffee. Of course he is. This is a fucking coffee shop, it’s the most natural thing for someone to be doing but it’s the last thing Mike had expected him to do. Standing up abruptly, Mike weaves his way through the growing crowd in the tiny sitting area, finally making it near the counter and he can see Bill now. He knows it’s Bill because he has the same blue eyes as the boy in his dreams, those eyes that sparkle even in the shadows. He’s got the same brown hair, it’s shade nearly matching the color of the drink that’s now in his hands. The thing that seals the deal, tells Mike that this certainly is Bill, that he’s not just imagining the man standing in front of him, is his smile. A tiny bit lopsided, the smallest peek of teeth showing between two pink lips; this smile is the brightest, most blessed thing Mike has seen today, this week, this year. He feels as if he is under a spell, one that he never wishes to be released from but it’s broken all too soon when Bill looks up at him and there is no recognition in his face, no shift in the focus of his eyes, no widening of that sunkissed smile. There’s nothing but the politeness that you would expect from a stranger.

“Can I help you?” Bill asks, his smile fading slightly as Mike stands there, mouth agape. He’s got to think of something quick, say something that will let Bill know who he is without sounding like a stalker, a creep.

Instead, he says nothing but, “sorry, I thought you were someone I know.”

Mike turns and goes to leave, feeling a mix of emotions ranging from sadness to shock that he even had the guts to say anything. It didn’t matter, though. No matter how ‘brave’ he was for saying something, even something as stupid as what he said, it didn’t change the fact that Bill didn’t recognize him which means Bill doesn’t have the same dreams Mike does, doesn’t feel the same flurry of hope and happiness and light and warmth in his gut that Mike does. He’s heading back to his table, thankful that his laptop wasn’t stolen while he was wasting his time and breaking his heart when-

“Mike?”

The voice stops him short. He turns around slowly, bottom lip clenched between his teeth. As he comes face-to-face with Bill once again, he feels the fluttering of metaphorical butterflies in his stomach. He never wants to forget this face, never wants to risk losing the chance to see him again even though he barely knows this man. He wants to have the chance, the opportunity to know this man, to come to love this man, to possibly someday wake up and see this shining face beside each morning. He’s getting ahead of himself, he knows it, but he can’t help it. There’s just something connecting them. It’s as if there was a piece of him missing, although he’s not quite sure just how big that piece is. But he’d bet his life that the piece is Bill-shaped because standing here looking at him makes Mike feel whole.

**Author's Note:**

> hi again. did you like it? if you did, could you please leave kudos and perhaps a comment? thanks again for reading :)


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